


in my wild erratic fancy

by creatopotato



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: And his Kravitz too, Character Study, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Taako gets by with a little help from his friends, pre-stolen century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatopotato/pseuds/creatopotato
Summary: Taako’s failures haunt him more than he wants to let on.But, of course, he lets on, sometimes.Taako’s friends care more than he feels comfortable them doing.But, of course, they do, anyway.





	in my wild erratic fancy

Taako doesn’t sleep. 

 

_(“Don’t be stupid, everyone knows that even elves need to sleep sometimes to survive,” Magnus rolls his eyes with fond exasperation, but pauses, then takes on a slightly more concerned shade. He’s not dumb, you know, not as dumb as others think he might be._

_“Right, Merle?”_

_Merle blinks up at him, fingers hopelessly tangled in a long piece of dark green twine, lost in thought._

_“Huh?”_

_Magnus sighs._

_So Taako flops dramatically down onto the couch, one hand thrown across his forehead in jest, proclaiming health concerns and demanding mugs of Goodberry tea._

_But it’s not so easy to distract Magnus once he’s got an idea in mind.)_

 

Taako doesn’t sleep, but of course, that’s not entirely true. 

It would be more accurate to say that Taako doesn’t sleep, much.

 

It would be more accurate to say that Taako will do pretty much anything to avoid falling asleep, from picking up three new hobbies over a weekend, to feigning sleep on long trips with the Très Horny Boys, and anything in between. At some point, fatigue and exhaustion will win, and he’ll collapse in a few hours of slumber, but it’s only when he can’t avoid it any longer, when he’s got little fight left, that he’ll give in willingly. 

And it’s not that he can’t fall asleep. Curled up in his corner of the tent, constantly travelling, waking at ridiculous hours to start meal prep, tumbling back into the tent only once the nightly revelry had finished - Taako grew up on the road and on the job. You took sleep where you could get it and you made the most of the time you had down. He was always the one who could be found nodding off any-where, any-when. Propped up against a hat stand, leaning elegantly on the front of a wagon, lying on the floor of a library, legs resting nestled between the tombs in the lower bookshelves- he’d be found dozing away without issue. It was all part of his stellar appeal, some would say, and looking back now, it’s safe to say that he never appreciated what a gift it was. 

He’s not entirely sure when it happened, between then and now, at what point he stopped savouring the quiet moments alone with his own thoughts and started to fear every second between the moment when he closed his eyes and when he was safely opening them again. 

He’s not entirely sure when crawling crowds and the crackling laughter became safety, when empty roads became haunting and certain smells made the ends of his nails want to curl backwards. He never kept a diary, who even has time, never kept tab of those things. 

What he does know is this-

 

Sleep terrifies him. 

 

_(Looking over at the bunk across from his, Robbie is lain strewn across his bed, various limbs and potions sticking out at odd angles beneath the sheets. He’s sleeping._

_Beneath Robbie, Merle is curled up upon himself, one hand outstretched between the pillow and his round cheek, little fingers curling into the beginnings of his beard. He’s sleeping._

_He can’t see Magnus, so he fashions that he must also be lying awake under him, silent and still, staring up at the planks of wood beneath Taako’s mattress, effectively staring up at Taako who, in turn, is staring up at the ceiling above him._

_He’s not the only one. There’s a nice kind of symmetry to that, so Taako doesn’t lean over the edge of the mattress, doesn’t risk breaking the illusion.)_

 

The first time Magnus tries to help, it’s a colossal embarrassment for them both. He sidles into Taako’s room one night, holding two mugs of cocoa and what looks like - 

“You’ve got to be kidding me - is that a fucking _story book?_ ” Taako bounds across the room, leaning in to examine the culprit close up, “It is! With pictures and rhyming and happiness and all that shit” 

Magnus actually shuffles his feet, head bowed and looks so close to a shamed puppy that even Taako feels a little bit bad when he proclaims a half-hearted excuse and ducks out the door again. 

 

The second time, Taako just cannot deal with hearing slowing footsteps loiter outside his door for another night, so throws the door open onto Magnus’ surprised face. 

“If you want me to commit to this shitapalouza, you’d better hope that you do the voices right.”

He doesn’t specifically tell Magnus that it’s the best mug of cocoa he’s had in, well, as long as he can remember. Nor does he say aloud that Magnus does the voices _just right._ The good news is that he does fall asleep. The bad news is he wakes up one hour later in a mess of tangled sheets and scattered nightmares, screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming. 

 

The third time he (politely) asks Magnus to hand over the cocoa and get the hell out of his room. 

It doesn’t stop him trying again, a fourth and fifth and sixth time, but once Taako has decided for certain that he’s un-help-able, it’s easier to turn his friend away. 

 

_(It’s the middle of the night, but it's definitely not a dream, because he definitely is not asleep._

_Taako has always needed multiple mirrors, for a variety of angles and occasions, but nothing quite compares to a full length, so he’s conjured one up at the end of his bed, right beside the door, perfect for a final snapshot, a last frame._

_Time is always a little, well, funny on the moonbase, but it’s quite likely the middle of the night, and Taako finds himself in front of the mirror. He is just standing there, staring back at himself in his full, glorious length mirror, and where it should usually be resplendent and powerful, it instead feels so wrong and disgusting, a distortion of truth- and if there are some shards still hiding in the coarse wool of the carpet as he walks to the kitchen the next morning, stinging into the soles of his feet, he’s not about to complain.)_

 

He had never considered how his sleep-aversion might affect his personal relationships.

 

To be fair, he had never thought that -

Hmm. 

Anyway. 

 

He had never even thought to forewarn his new (?) boyfriend that things might get a little on the funky side once the sleeping hour came around. Why should he? They don’t even know each other’s favourite colours yet, Taako is definitely just getting ahead of himself, there’s no need to dip into that deep shit just yet. 

But Kravitz - beautiful, bewildering, bashful Kravitz - with his rail-splitter sharp jaw and his warm brown eyes, doesn’t question it, doesn’t judge him. 

 

The first time they share a bed, in the technical sense as opposed to any other, it’s after a long night of star gazing (and Kravitz gazing because, _come on_ ), and Taako insists that Kravitz may as well take the whole night off at this point and insists that the best place to take the night off, if not in the yellow-grass fields of Splendor, would definitely be in his ridiculously soft bed back on the moon base. Between Kravitz’s reaper magic and Taako’s brilliant magic, they can sneak back to his room without a slither of difficulty, or detection by the Director’s guards. 

 

( _“We should definitely bring back a dog, take some fantasy polaroids of them messing around in our rooms,” Taako giggles, mostly to himself, “But take him back down before Magnus wakes up, oh gods, he would be_ so _jealous.”_

_Sadly, Kravitz manages to convince him to save that plan for another night.)_

 

So there he is, perfect and gorgeous and everything that’s right with the world. 

Or at least, that’s how Taako describes himself, aloud, lying on the bed. Don’t think he doesn’t notice the tinge of pink on those otherwise pristine cheekbones. He is no stranger to the effect he has on other people, at worst, he’s perhaps unaccustomed to enjoyed the results quite so much. But then Kravitz is lying in the bed beside him and telling him stories of some of his most dramatic hunts, he even obliges and tells Taako some of his most embarrassing failures, which speaks volumes on trust, and Taako kind of softens a little into the bed after that. He lets his hips sink into the foamy warmth of the mattress, giggling as Kravitz is running away from two marshmallow-bodied goons, leaving behind them a sticky white trail, and before he knows it, his eyes are a little heavy, and the world is a little too bright, and he feels so warm and heavy and _right-_

 

And then he’s sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and breaths erratic, and Kravitz’s hands on his shoulders are icy cold, but not as cold as the sweat making its way down his spine, far more chilling and disruptive. 

Kravitz, to his credit, just folds him into a hug. 

No, Taako won’t give him that, and pushes away, like he always does, like he’s always done. He didn’t survive all those years alone for nothing. 

“I’m fine,” He says, “You’re just too cold for snuggling.”

“You’re not, but that’s okay,” says Kravitz. 

 

And, of course, _that_ is precisely when he’s summoned by his Raven Queen, a reminder to them both on the limits of luxury between whatever this is, and a life bound in service. Kravitz’s lips are colder than his hands, but there’s something so soft about the way he then presses them against Taako’s forehead, eyes brimming with more apologies, before fading back into the osseous white recesses, robes billowing, ripping a hole into the space beside his bed and stepping through. 

 

( _They have the conversation, but it’s much later, and much louder._

_Taako never used to yell like this._

_“You don’t know what it was like,” he screams, a gust of wind whipping his hair like a gale, “You weren’t there! You didn’t see them”_

_“Of course I did,” Kravitz whispers, eventually finding a way to calm again, finding away to wrap his cold arms around Taako’s entire body, curled up into his own, his tears wetting Taako’s face, but he’s stopped apologising for crying, as if it was a sin unbidden of the wicked, “I was there, with you.”_

_Oh. Of course he was._

_They all died, after all.)_

 

The weird thing is that, even though their missions are exhausting and dangerous and entirely limiting in regards to his wardrobe- because there’s only so much he can stash in a Bag of Holding without forgetting some of his more diverse options, mannequins have always held a special service in his morning routine - the weird thing is that he always sleeps better when they’re on the road. 

Turns out fighting hell-bent cretins and evil masterminds does wonders for both the metabolism and fantasy melatonin, because sometimes Taako finds himself curling up with his boys beside a low-burning fire, or tucked inside the entrance to an abandoned building, or sheltered against the hull of an undulating ship, or sprawled out in the open beneath an inky black sky, or bumping along an unmade road in the back of whatever trader is willing and unlikely to ask questions, on the road, they get whatever sleep they can and don’t question the details. But Taako has no problem with this, and more often than not, catches a couple of hours of uninterrupted slumber without issue.

That’s where Kravitz and Magnus have it wrong. He doesn’t need someone beside him to coax him into slumber, to hold his hand and bid him goodnight.

Because, of course, the problem with sleeping, is not that he is alone. 

 

The problem is that, most nights, he sees them all. 

 

Lying there still, their still bodies stiff in the sunny day, his famous foods still between their fingers, a beguiling smile still plastered across his face, slowly slipping as he realised the show was ending. In fact, it was over. It was all over. 

 

The only thing he can control, most nights, is what he does next. 

 

Sometimes, most times, he’s driving away. That’s what he did, it’s what he does best. Running is safe and it’s easy, but it’s also smart. Taako is very smart. There’s a reason cowards are around to tell the stories of heroes. He’s fine with those labels and their derisions- he’s also fine not being dead. But in his dreams, he can’t escape it. In the van, burning the miles on the open road, they leave only to return. No matter which road he takes, which spell he burns to travel, he finds himself in that same clearing, by the same trailer, again, and again, and again, and again. In his dreams, he can’t escape. And he wakes screaming.

Sometimes, he opts out, and spends the endless expanse of a dream right there, amongst them all, walking alone amongst them, his fingers trailing over their hair, their clothes, their skin. Their skin. it’s always so cold. And then, he wakes, screaming.

But then sometimes - and these are the worst nights, the most abhorrent nights of all - he moves somewhere beyond the bodies, or the cooking show, or anything he can remember. Sometimes, in his dreams, he just is, and he is there. Nothing around him, no faces haunting him, no phantasmal memories to terrorise him. Just, nothing, nothing and Taako. And it’s wrong, so _wrong_ in ways that he can’t find the words to even explain to himself, that it burns him up and then he wakes, screaming, again. 

 

_(It got better, after that. Some of the time._

_Maybe it got better when Kravitz was there beside him. There was something oddly familiar about sharing his bed that he’d never considered. Falling asleep is one thing, but waking alone was definitely part of the problem, in a different, bigger sense of the problem._

_But, then again, that can’t be right, either. Before Kravitz, well, that was all he’d ever known.)_

 

He’s not entirely sure if Kravitz told Magnus. 

To be fair, he’s also not sure if Magnus told Kravitz, first.

 

They’ve been getting close, after all, in their own, tolerable kind of way. Magnus is the sort that can forgive someone trying to kill him, if it’s in the right situation. Merle, not so much forgiveness as acceptance. Or something. For all his tomfoolery, Merle is quite often the one that Taako understands least of all. 

At first, they would all just, sort of, chat, sometimes. Occasionally when Taako had to make last minute make-up adjustments, or finish off a quick experiment or a dish - 

 

( - h _e’s actually started cooking again, somehow, despite everything, and so far it’s been fine - )_

 

_-_ and where Kravitz used to loiter fondly in the doorway, or borrow one of Taako’s books without permission, now he’s likely to find his way into their shared lounge, and fold himself neatly onto the couch beside the other two, or whichever one happens to be around.

 

Turns out he and Magnus share a passion for travel, fantasy rap music and dogs. 

Turns out he and Merle share a passion for botanical illustration. 

 

(“ _Gross,” He and Magnus both agree, resolutely, and leave them to it._ ) 

 

Taako is honestly surprised to realise he’s not jealous, not even a bit; not at all. 

He hadn’t realised how important it was to him that they approved of Kravitz, that they liked him, not while he’d still been lying to them about the whole thing. Maybe it was part of the mystery and intrigue of secrets that had somehow framed it to be more desirable, but as he emerges to the grotesquely friendly scene before him, and they’re too busy to comment on how balls-droppingly brilliant he looks, all crowded around a stone of far-speech, listening to Angus squeak out his latest detective findings: a collection of missing person reports, a disappearing library that reappeared two towns away from it’s original location, and two counts of haunted trees bombarding villagers with rotten peaches. 

 

( _Angus, somehow, takes it better than all the rest of them._

_Merle being upset is warranted, if not unexpected. He likes his new arm, but it took some adjusting, some getting used to, and so will Kravitz._

_Magnus is anything if not inhospitable, but he is a mother hen in the same broad embrace, and as precious as he is, as positive as he tries to be, he may actually be oblivious to how close he keeps his potential enemies. It’s sweet, and surprisingly effective._

_Lucretia is bemused and must have a sore neck from the amount of head-shaking she’s had to do since they joined the BOB._

_But Angus, pushing his glasses a little further up his adorably snub nose, holds out a hand - which Kravitz takes with a small smile - then politely informs him that if he breaks Taako’s heart, as world's greatest detective, Angus will find out and track him down, and ensure that justice is served._

_Somehow, this initial meeting does nothing to stop the two of them becoming fast, nerdy friends.)_

 

He doesn’t go to Merle for help for a very, very long time. That would involve admitting that something was potentially, possibly wrong and that is not Taako’s style.Merle certainly doesn’t approach him to offer assistance, because Merle is the very worst cleric that the fantasy universe has known, and if everyone on the moonbase is not aware of this yet, then Taako needs to spend less time napping and more time chatting. 

But even if he's not jealous, he does like some solo, uninterrupted Taako time with his buds, every once in a while. And it's been a while.

So, it’s a bit of a surprise, but not too much of a surprise, all things considered, when Merle invites him to go away on a spa weekend together. 

It’s ( _not)_ a bit of a surprise that he says yes. 

 

The first day is actually, all together, non-weird and almost-relaxing. They take a pod to the resort, which is tucked away, deeps in the Forgetful Forest, beside the monastery. It’s beautiful.  

The massage is beyond a no-go for Taako, who bats their hands away and lowers himself shamelessly into the hot mud with a deep sigh of relief. He cannot see himself through the thick sludge, can barely see beyond the heavy, steamy air as it coalesces off the surface of the tub. He can barely see, but he can definitely hear the highly disgusting moans coming from Merle on the other side of the room, who disappointingly booked a four hour whole body massage.

At dinner, he doesn’t even really pretend to be annoyed about Merle’s stories. Everyone knows that his nieces and nephews, as he describes them, almost certainly aren’t that, but they don’t bother correcting him, don’t bother breaking whatever walls he’s letting them see. 

 

( _That’s what family does, after all._ ) 

 

And Merle has an odd knack for storytelling. 

After dinner, they’re sharing a bottle of cognac on the balcony, rugged up and cosy. 

 

It’s then that Merle speaks up, properly. 

 

“You know, when something terrible happens, there are so many different ways to respond.”

“If this is you admitting that you were the one who farted at the board meeting, I have to go back inside and call Magnus because he owes me three gold.”

“Some people choose fear, some people choose anger. Or guilt, or denial, or vengeance, or whatever you want to pick, I don't know. Sometimes it’s all consuming and sometimes it’s a small daily trickle, there at the back of your mind every day, never quite letting enough time pass without a reminder of what happened, when you’re least expecting it.”

“There’s no way that Lucretia makes something that vicious and doesn’t even raise an eyebrow, I don’t care what Maggie says. Not even her.” 

“The thing is, of course, that when something terrible happens, no matter why or how, you _have_ to respond. You just gotta. It doesn’t work otherwise, it can’t work. It has to go somewhere, that guilt, that fear, that anger. It can’t just stay up inside of you forever, or even just for a few years.”

 

Taako says nothing, Merle takes a big sip from his glass, cradling it between his stubby fingers, elbows tucked either side of his beard. 

"At least, I could never." 

 

Of course, then, he lets out a ripper fart and sends bats flocking out from the nearby trees. Taako nearly falls out of his chair laughing, the fancy cognac spilling all down his front, but he can't bring himself to care, or stop laughing. 

 

( _They visit the memorial together._

_Taako didn’t even realise a memorial had been built, but of course it had. Of course they did._

_There’s a portrait of all of them, who were there, who died. Every single face. Some of them are so young._

_There’s no photo of him. But, of course, it’s not about him. For once._

_Magnus is crying but Taako isn’t. He looks at each of the faces in front of him, he learns their names, he’s very smart after all, he can manage that much. He takes his purse and empties it into the chest which is labelled as collection for families of the victims. It’s unlikely that they’ve stopped collecting, after all this time. Being dead doesn’t really go away, even as the years go by, he thinks to himself._

_Then he smiles. It’s a funny, half-sad smile, and he rejects it a second later. That is not Taako’s style.)_

 

It gets better, after that. Some of the time. 

But if Taako doesn’t sleep, much, that’s okay. He’s got a lot to think about. He’s got Magnus in the room next door, and Merle in the room next to that, but Pan help him if he’s ever knocking on that door in the middle of the night, not again. He’s got Kravitz, on the other side of the bed, watching him back, or on the other side of the material plane, or somewhere else entirely, he’s got Kravitz. 

And he’s got a lot to think about.

 

( _The umbrella has gone to a great many places since they met, but somehow it always ends up just there, on the bedside dresser, catching Taako’s eye as he drifts off to sleep. It’s so absolutely his style, pink and lace in perfect excess, but then it’s so completely not him, all loud and messy._

_Taako’s got a lot to think about._ ) 

**Author's Note:**

> [please let me know what you think of this madness]


End file.
